


In Sickness and In Health

by honeybun



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: After the obscurus, Credence will be okay xox, Fix-It, Fluff, Hospitalisation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Moving In Together, Mute!Credence, Mutual Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9630482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybun/pseuds/honeybun
Summary: “What happens when people open their hearts?”“They get better."― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello <3 
> 
> I've been gone for a little while! Sorry about that.
> 
> I've been a little stuck on this fic, it's been pretty much finished but as usual I'm not entirely happy with it~ 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ weepingstar

Credence has brief snatches of remembrance from that day, knows Mary Lou had brought out the belt, told him he was no son of hers, and then a noise so loud and so frightening it could wake the dead. Remembers something ripping him apart and then, distant echoes of _his_ voice, calling for him, strong hands cradling his head and a sudden cold that overtook him. Before the darkness he remembers closing his eyes, ready to let go, happy to, finally held by someone

  
But he doesn’t, Credence can swear he feels that white light inside of him press out of his body, before those strong hands are forcing it back in, telling him to wait just a little longer, just a little more, breathe Credence, _please_. But he’s going, going, going...

 

  
Credence opens his eyes, he’s laying in a hospital bed, that he’s sure of. He’s wearing white, comfortable, clean robes, and he himself is clean and comfortable. He can faintly hear the tap of shoes on the parquet flooring outside of his spacious room. It has been six weeks since he was admitted, and he still has not uttered a word.

Time passes strangely, Credence listens to the tapping of shoes and the quiet chatter of nurses outside. Feels the days pass and blend together, waking, eating, washing, sleeping, waking again. Credence sometimes feels as if he’s slowly floating upwards, outside his body to closely examine the patterns in the ceiling. So light and free and wonderful, until he suddenly slams back down again, usually to the beginning of a fit which catches him unawares in the most terrible way.

Throughout the day Credence’s eyes lazily trace the dust motes curling through the air in spots of sunlight. He knows he’d been moved to this room especially because it had large windows and a view, the doctors had originally been optimistic that he’d be up soon to look out of them, he hadn’t. He could hear leaves rustling on the trees and enjoy the dappled light in the mornings, but hadn’t got up to look out of the window, hadn’t even turned his head since he was admitted.

Sometimes he hears his doctors and the nurses who tend him talking quietly about him, usually with his gentleman visitor. They say that Credence is suffering from some kind of magical shock, they keep note as the weeks pass and he still hasn’t spoken a word in the time since the obscurus left him in a rush on the 18th of September. Credence doesn’t move from his bed, is sure he probably could if he wanted to, when he’d opened his eyes to the delight of the nurses it had quickly turned to worry and concern when he didn’t seem to respond to very much at all, eyes open or not.

Credence had unfortunately become partial to fits, he will begin to jerk and shudder and hold his breath, like after he’s been floating towards the ceiling, but thankfully that isn’t often. It’s terrible when it does happen though. Credence likes his controlled quiet, likes to keep his speech under lock and key, and when he has a fit he doesn’t have any control at all, can feel the trembling in his joints and the ache in his jaw from gritting his teeth for the rest of the day. When it’s finally over, the nurses gripping his forearms and calves down, the only noise he lets out is a pained breath before he goes back to his preferred silence.

 

The nurses are very accommodating to Credence's gentleman visitor, Mr. Graves, who had taken to stopping by on a regular basis every evening. They think of him very fondly, watch as he takes up his usual post in the armchair next to the boy's bed, keeping watch carefully and reading his paper aloud to him. Credence does have other visitors, one particular young witch who seems to fret and frown when she sees him, leaves after around half an hour of talking to Credence. But Mr. Graves is a favourite of the nurses, they suspect he’s a favourite of Credence’s, too.

During his visits from Tina though, Credence usually sleeps or tries to only listen vaguely, the young witch makes him feel guilty just by being there, she feels terrible that he’s in this state, blames herself. Credence has had enough of guilt, very much likes Miss Tina, but would rather she didn’t come if it makes her so sad. Sometimes Credence feels like he doesn’t exist, like the black smoke of the obscurus had completely sucked the life out of him when it left on the day he only remembers in odd patches, like a threadbare rug. He would rather Miss Tina maybe came by and read to him like Mr. Graves, or talk about nice things without the guilty lilt to her voice.

Sometimes Credence feels he’s trapped leagues under the sea, suspended in the dark with no one for miles around, a gigantic pressure pressing him down, down, down. Nobody to save him, not a glimmer of light around him, until the white light he'd seen leave him before, makes itself known again. It will softly abandon him and trail up to the surface where Credence can't reach, Credence think of the hands that saved him before and wonders if his saviour can swim.

 

He’s always tempted to test his own little theory when Graves visits him, prove to himself that he could get up if he wanted, could talk if he felt like it. Tells himself that he’s silly for thinking he’s broken, stupid for being so vulnerable, just basking in his own misery. However, whenever he has a visitor, whenever he builds himself up to say something, he can’t do it. Credence can’t even open his mouth, something he can do when he’s alone, just clams up, no, no, no, no, no, no, _no_. And this starts to concern little Credence, trying-to-be-in-control-but-actually-isn't Credence.

He knows when Graves is coming to visit him because he can hear him talking to the nurse at the end of his corridor, asking after him, has there been any improvement, has he spoken today, has he moved, is he eating? The nurse will patiently answer his questions one by one, assuring him that there’s been no changes or he would have been notified, like they’d arranged. Then he hears Graves’ boots scuff on the floor, a certain and confident rhythm from a man much the same.

He loves when Graves visits. Will think of how he can make the man happy even with the small resources he has, so he will often close his eyes when Graves comes in, impatiently wait for him to sit down in his usual place and get his reading material ready. He will open his eyes after a few minutes of Graves softly reading, Graves will pause and Credence can just about hear an excited intake of breath. Graves will tell Credence it’s good to see him, then he will continue on with his newspaper. Credence doesn’t mind what he reads, couldn’t give a damn about the weather in Manhattan this weekend or whatever society gossip there is, but could listen to Mr. Graves talk forever. If it’s an especially good day, he might even manage to stroke his thumb and forefinger along the sheets he’s wrapped in - this thrills Graves, he always says he’s doing well, getting better, one step at a time, my boy, we can wait, _we’ve time._

Both Graves and Credence remember the first occasion Credence opened his eyes again. Graves was there, of course, just a week after the incident, Credence still raw and aching and bruised. He’d felt that he had listened long enough, had convinced himself he wasn’t dead, in Heaven or Hell, he was alive. He had waited until Mr. Graves had settled in his spot, stumped as to why the man visited him in the first place, and he had slowly, painfully, opened his eyes again. Mr. Graves had shot out of his seat, voice cracking a little when he called Credence’s name, had cupped Credence’s face with his hand and stroked a thumb down his cheekbone. Only just thinking to call the nurse moments later, the room quickly bustling with too many people asking too many questions. His clever Mr. Graves had known, had sensed his panic, and had commanded half the room out - qualified doctors and nurses, mind you.

Ever since that time, Credence had harboured a very shy fondness for Mr. Graves. Although many wouldn’t think it for whatever reason, Graves was an incredibly perceptive man, knew when Credence was uncomfortable or wanted to know more about a story he was reading, knew when he wanted some more pudding or when he was scared of the new magical tests the doctors were using. Credence didn’t understand how anyone could comprehend him as well as Graves did in the short time they’d known each other before the obscurus had made itself apparent, and afterwards when Credence hadn’t said... well, hadn't said anything at all.

Graves when going to see Credence made him both the happiest and the unhappiest of men. Wishing every day that the boy would recover just a little more, maybe speak today, maybe even sit up in bed. However, it’s slow progress, but seeing him safe in his room and away from the Barebone woman, away from that draughty church, fed and clean and warm, does give him happiness. Graves will always check if there were any developments in the day, will always receive the same answer, make his way to Credence as quietly as he can. Take his seat next to the almost always sleeping boy, and start his reading, trying to keep his place on the page while wanting to look over the sweetly dreaming Credence. His particular favourite moment is when his eyes open, his irises so grey and expressive, opening for him, because he’s there, recognising _him_ \- Graves _knows_ he is recognising him. Sometimes when he’s about to leave, saying his goodbyes, Credence’s thumb and forefinger will twitch against the bed sheet, will tremble against it, and he will be thrilled and think perhaps Credence is waving, perhaps he’s trying to talk to Graves in the limited way he can, and Graves will stay for another hour to read, just in case, might be treated to more twitching of his hand and maybe even Credence falling asleep once more.

 

Once, Credence’s entire hand turns over and Graves stops his reading entirely, in shock. Stares for a moment before moving his chair forward to get even closer to Credence, asks the boy a few quiet questions while trying to stay calm, are you alright, do you want anything, are you okay, are you hurting?

Credence, of course, does not answer, and Graves does what he thinks is best and he takes up Credence’s hand - small, delicate, soft, cold - and presses his own against it. Worries perhaps that this is a little invasive of him, while enjoying so much the physical assurance that he hasn’t been dreaming of a spectre all these weeks, so often feels as if Credence is barely contained within his body, visiting elsewhere temporarily while his outer shell remains. A few minutes pass, Graves brushing his thumb over Credence’s knuckles firmly, warming his hands, and then beginning to read again, still holding, staying an extra two hours until his wrist positively aches from holding onto Credence for so long.

Credence is scared, so scared, scared of the hand that holds his, scared of Mr. Graves’ voice, scared to keep it carefully in his heart like he wants to, scared of what might happen when it finally disappears like he’s convinced it will. The night when Graves holds his hand is the night when Credence lets out a sound finally, a soft, agonisingly lonely and terrible sob. Into the darkness, Graves long gone and hand still turned over as if it might bring him back.

 

  
Graves starts to bring books, something that assures Credence, newspapers are ephemeral things, bought for one day and then thrown away the next, books are forever. Graves always explains to him so wonderfully, his voice deep but soft, he doesn’t ever make Credence feel like he’s ill, like he’s being pitied because he’s broken, explains that he’s going to read to him a few chapters of his book, that he hopes he might like it. Graves leans forward while he’s saying all this, looking him deep in the eye, Credence can see Graves travelling towards him on the rough sea, searching for Credence, ready to lift him up with arms wrapped tight around him, and Credence knows that he probably could swim, probably could wave his arms and shout for help but he doesn’t, not yet. Sitting back on his chair with an ease which speaks volumes in how familiar he is now with this situation, Graves brings out his book and begins to read.

 

  
Not all days are the same in the hospital, some days Credence might be particularly bad, not realise he’s been too deep and too long in his own mind, the only thing to shock Credence out of it, the only thing that pulls him from the heavy water is the strong and warm hand of Mr. Graves gripping his shoulder, not shouting certainly, but firmly speaking his name, bringing him back. Credence might let out a rush of breath and Graves will thank Credence for coming back to him, well done, Credence, _well done_ , good boy. Graves will read extra long on those days, stay and make sure Credence is present, make the nurses aware and ask if they’ll keep a good watch on him tonight, Credence knows because he strains his ears to hear him.

Credence knows it was Graves who saved him. _Knows_ it was Graves’ voice calling him back, Graves cradling the back of his head and telling him to hold on a little while longer. Thinks - if such a thing is possible - thinks he might have put Credence’s soul back into his body. He can admit to himself, in his heart of hearts, that he’s scared to speak because he won’t know what to say, and maybe when he’s better Mr. Graves won’t care anymore, will have done his duty, maybe Credence is scared to speak because maybe he really _can’t_.

 

In mid November, Graves makes his way to the St. Jude’s Magical Maladies hospital for witches and wizards, he passes by the extensive wards for diseases and poxes, takes a right at splinching care and then goes up three flights of stairs to an especially quiet part of the hospital. Asks his usual questions of the nurse, gets his usual answers, and makes his way to his Credence. It’s one of those days, one which could easily blend into the next, and the next, and the next, routine, normal.

Halfway through Mr. Graves' first chapter of reading, Credence realises something, realises that perhaps in allowing himself to keep hold of this little thing, Graves’ voice, his hand, he had begun to hope, had so suddenly stopped feeling so alone, he'd stopped struggling under water. Each word of Graves’ a pebble thrown into a pond, insignificant at first until it eventually causes it to run over. Credence wonders when he began to feel less of a ghost and more of a human.

Credence turns his head, looks at Graves’ silhouette against the warm glow of the evening hours streaming in from his window. Graves has stopped reading, so focused on what Credence is doing, so focused on his turned head, the possibility of a fit, and hope, the hope, _the hope_.

“Don’t stop, please,” Credence croaks, his voice rough and strange to his own ears, unused for so long.

Graves pulls his chair up closer to Credence just like the time before, and finds his hand, grips it so hard his knuckles are white, Credence hopes it might bruise so he can hold the memory for a little longer. He begins to read again, fingers of his left hand trembling, stiltedly trying to find his place lost on the page. His right hand concerned with firmly holding onto his Credence, his Credence who is going to be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there <3
> 
> Sorry this is a little late, I hope you enjoy it! I think it's likely that I'll extend this to four chapters, but we'll see~ 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ weepingstar xox

After Credence had finally come back to himself Graves couldn’t possibly hesitate to extend his visits, would bring two books now just in case he finished the first. Even though Credence really no longer needed someone to read to him and would speak occasionally Graves still liked to do it - would make excuse after excuse to continue to read to him until the hospital cart with Credence’s meal came around. Then Graves would take his leave, say goodbye to Credence a few times, stalling to ask the boy what book he might like tomorrow, would he like Graves to bring anything else? To the slight exasperation of the nurses there, Graves lingered longer and longer each evening, and when finally opening the door, he’d usually manage to pull a quiet little farewell from Credence, mysterious as that may be. The small words Credence gave him would satisfy Graves until the next morning, when as soon as he rose he would find himself wishing he could see Credence instead of head to work - replaying the last moments of their visit in his head until he had new ones to mull over.

There was something that thrilled Graves to the core though - Credence would speak rarely and little, but whenever he did it, and the only time he did it, was when Graves was present. Graves greedily lapped up those little words and kept them for himself, would smugly tell the doctors that Credence had spoken to him again tonight, would savour their slight peevishness that Credence hadn’t answered any of their questions at all, not today, not ever. The boy would be sweet and nod at the staff, but steadfastly avoid conversation unless his Mr. Graves was there to help him along. Graves would often take it upon himself to answer in place of Credence, knew Credence hadn’t felt too hot, dizzy, shaky, or the boy would have told Graves first – found a terrifying pleasure in this, being the gatekeeper of the young boy’s words.

  
Credence’s long absence from human contact had gotten him into a slightly strange situation. When living with Mary Lou, he’d kept himself to himself as best he could, tried for years to just keep himself from falling apart, didn’t have time to pine after affection. When staying in the hospital, he’d become increasingly aware of how much he would like the casual closeness that so many people took for granted. When it was bestowed upon Credence by Mr. Graves, it was in small squeezes of his hand, the ruffling of his hair, the gripping of his shoulder as Credence has his blood taken. Credence had become rather attached to it all, had formulated exactly how to get that kind of attention from his favourite Mr. Graves.

Credence knows the word, it’s ‘clingy’, a word which means that Credence would do a great many things to inspire and hold onto Graves’ many small affections. He would take great advantage of Graves’ happiness at his little words and would turn his hand over to be held - Graves always abiding, would squeeze and stroke his knuckles until he left. Credence, the terrible covetous being he is, would maybe tighten his grip when Graves was about to go, make the older man quickly backtrack and stay another hour or so, start a new chapter, assure Credence he wasn’t going anywhere. Sometimes Graves stays until way past visiting hours, until the nurses knock on the door for the third time to ask Director Graves if he could leave please, their patient needs some rest. Graves will ask Credence if he’s tired, get a little shake of the head in return from the boy, and then turn to remind the nurse of the sizeable donation made by him to this particular ward, and ask that he may stay another ten minutes or so. Graves loves it a little too much that Credence wants him there, asks him to stay. Credence felt he had never had any power over anything, had never been privy to the attention Graves gives him so freely now. Their visits together work out well for the both of them.

Once, when Credence was feeling especially nervous of being alone, when he really didn’t want to think of his Mr. Graves leaving and not coming back until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, stuck in his terribly quiet, terribly empty room, he does something very, very unkind.

 _“Please?”_ Credence asks, knowingly fluttering his eyelashes.

Graves stops in his tracks to the door, entirely stumped, heart struck, so completely enamoured. He sits down again with a thud and grunts, getting their most recent book out, says another chapter can’t hurt. Wondering what he’s going to do for dinner, Graves tilts his head at Credence, asks if the boy would like Graves to get them something special to eat, as Credence was doing so very well.

Credence, wide eyed, nods his head, tentatively stretches his fingers towards Graves’ on the covers, not initiating anything, but softly enquiring. Graves takes the fingers and wraps his hand around them. Graves feels that they’re twisting little vines which bloom as soon as they touch, beginning to climb and snag up his arm, wrapping their green tendrils around Graves until he’s trapped there, just by the press of Credence’s fingers.

Graves, unwilling to move himself from Credence’s bedside, calls a peevish nurse to the room and as politely as he can, asks whether the nurse would be able to fetch something to eat from the canteen, asks especially for two cauldron cakes for them both, please, thank you. The excitement emanating from Credence is tangible, Graves smirks and squeezes his fingers, “You’re just excited about the cakes, aren’t you?” Credence ducks his head and smiles.

The little bedside table which usually holds a jug of water and the spray of flowers Graves has arranged, is quickly laden with dishes. Not wanting to overwhelm Credence with the food presented to him, he quietly tells Credence if he can finish half, that would be very good, take your time, _don’t worry_. Credence responds well, gets on even better once praised, Graves only starts eating once he’s gently shown approval for Credence’s easy obedience. Credence flushes hotly at Graves’ sincere words, thinks about what it would be like to eat with the man every night, thinks covetously about the cauldron cakes Graves had set at the other side of the room.

Graves eats, he does, but he doesn’t taste anything, hears his fork clink against an empty bowl and looks down to see everything gone, he’d been too busy watching Credence. Watching how delicately the boy ate, how precariously, how his eyes darted about a little as if someone might come and take it away from him, Graves’ heart gripped at the thought that that might be true, that it was likely to have happened. And the noises, great Merlin. Credence had made the sweetest little humming sounds, eked out little noises of delight, Graves could see his toes curling underneath his blanket. A fierce sense of protectiveness overcame him, looking at the sweet vulnerable boy eating food provided by him, he wanted to keep this moment solely to himself, never allow anyone to see his Credence like this.

Graves wonders how long he can keep this up for, how long he’ll be allowed to have this angel to himself, feels that the karmic taxman hasn’t caught up to him yet, would find out eventually that a bastard like him was having a wonderful time and he’d soon be put to rights. When the wonderful blessing of Credence is finally taken from him, by the ministry or various other forces, Graves thinks he’ll tell Credence then, will tell him he likes Credence best when he’s with Graves and no one else, selfish and possessive and jealous but _honest_.

A terrible idea was birthed in Graves’ mind in that moment, one of those painfully hopeful ideas that, once created, latches onto the most vulnerable parts of you and never really lets go. What if Graves _could_ keep this up, what if Credence _could_ be permanently taken into his care, what if Graves _could_ forever be this blissful, keep this strange happiness that had entered his life so suddenly and was so very hard to let go of.

Graves knew that if Credence were to leave, be sent off to some boarding school somewhere, or taken into the care of the cold and objective hands of the ministry, he would be lost to him forever. Graves would perhaps be allowed to visit semi-regularly, but still be closely monitored by the state and with limits he didn’t want to abide by. Not like this wonderful freedom he’d been gifted with now, nothing like this. So Graves begins to plan, and meanwhile, Credence eats.

Very happy with his slightly manipulative ploy, Credence happily chews, wriggling a little with contentment, with such lovely company - well, Mr. Graves isn’t much of a talker, but he’s certainly a wonderful _presence_ , Credence thinks. Happy his slightly spoilt behaviour had not only gotten Graves to stay for an extra hour or more, but had his hand held by Graves for much longer than usual, had shared a meal, and had been presented with the promise of cake.

When Credence had started to push his food around the plate, shooting Graves sheepish glances, Graves had gone to retrieve his dessert. Credence, upon finishing his treat in its entirety, had tried his very best to say a few more words to his Graves, had begun to get terribly sleepy, wanted so very much to stay awake and talk to his favourite visitor. However, Mr. Graves wouldn’t have it, whisked the plates away with his wand and told Credence to settle down to sleep, that he would be back tomorrow, told his sweet boy not to fret. When Credence acted _especially_ spoilt and lifted his hand to cling at Graves’ sleeve, Graves turned around with a smirk on his face, moved to press his free hand to Credence’s forehead, and stroke a thumb over his brow, promising he would be back soon, don’t make me feel guilty, or I won’t ever _leave_ , dear boy.

In the wake of Graves’ absence, Credence hopes and prays that he won’t, really, really won’t. Discoveres shortly after that Graves had left behind his scarf, had laid it over his usual chair and forgotten to take it home with him. Credence had seen, hadn’t said anything, and when Graves had gone he’d snatched it up and pressed it to his nose, had kept it under his pillow and slept stroking the soft fabric, could occasionally smell Mr. Graves’ aftershave. He’d given it back the next day, hadn’t looked Graves in the eye when he’d returned it, slightly rumpled, and sure somehow Graves knew what he’d done.

  
In the time between Graves’ visits, Credence still watches the dust motes, still imagines himself adrift in the sea, this time safely chartered by Graves, still travelling towards the shore. He doesn’t feel himself floating towards the ceiling anymore, doesn’t find he’s unable to open his mouth and speak, trapped in fits less often now. Things improve, not drastically, but slowly, like they should. 

Time passes in odd bursts at the hospital, once Credence gets used to the routine, each day blends with another and it turns into a long marathon - apart from Graves’ visits, which stick out in his mind like a sore but especially dear thumb. However, when change happens, it’s especially hard to adjust to.

The doctors had been pleased with Credence’s progress for quite some time, were happy when Graves reported more words spoken, more movement, more of Credence coming back to himself. Whether they had become impatient or annoyed that it was only Graves who inspired such things, the doctors and nurses wanted to try something new, a shock to the system, they said. And Credence hated the ‘ _something new_ ’ which turned out to be ‘ _ice baths_ ’ and also ‘ _really, really horrible_ ’. He would be taken first thing in the morning, stripped down and the plunked in a freezing cold tub for far, far too long, shivering and whimpering when not allowed out. The whole rest of the day spent trembling and never quite warm again.

Credence doesn’t _mean_ for Graves to find out, but he can’t really help it when his lips are blue and Credence himself may as well be. Graves calls for the nurse who tells him that Credence has had an ice bath today and was likely still feeling the benefits of it.

 _“Benefits?”_ Credence has never heard the tone Mr. Graves uses before, but it reminds him of the large and dark rain clouds which would threaten the city before a storm.

“Yes, a clearer and most focused mind, Director Graves,” the nurse replies, shaking in his hospital-issue shoes a little.

“He’s just fucking _cold_ ,” Graves gestures to Credence, his voice just as chilly as Credence. Graves had caught a tremor in both Credence’s hand and lips and it was making him slightly irrational.

While the nurse tries to reel off a number of benefits to ice bathing, Credence wraps himself tighter in his blankets, looking up to see Graves casting a series of warming charms on him, feeling the heat lick across his skin and slowly cover him in wonderful heat. The nurse isn’t happy

“Sir! You mustn’t disturb the process; this is for his own good!” The nurse says, his voice breaking in the middle, not exactly helping to instill authority.

Graves turns towards the man again, fixing him with a look that once made an auror actually cry, and simply tells the nurse,  ** _“Go away.”_**

The man goes, tail between his legs. Graves, with slight aplomb, sits down in his usual seat and gets out Credence’s book, begins to read to him, and at around six o’clock Graves goes to the large window and strikes up an entirely too strange conversation with a passing pigeon, fastens a shining coin to its leg and within ten minutes it returns with a paper bag of food. Firstly, Credence thinks Graves must have really disturbed the ice bath treatment and sent him loopy, because he’s never seen something so bizarre, wonders if it’s his mind paying tricks on him until Graves tells him that it’s all alright, it’s _magic_. Credence (sensibly) is reluctant to take pigeon-procured food, although Graves tells him it’s perfectly safe, not to worry, to try the pappardelle. Credence tries it, not one to argue, not one to question his favourite Mr. Graves, it tastes fine, delicious even, he thinks whatever pigeon related disease he’s likely to get is probably worth it. Credence gives Graves a smile, showing off his dimples, a smile that says, this is our secret, our secret we shouldn’t have and one I care to keep.

Graves leaves that night after giving Credence three sugar mice to nibble on until he returns tomorrow. Credence eats two and saves the third under his pillow, sucks on his sticky fingers. Wonders at what he and Graves will do tomorrow, in their safe and small little world.

  
Unfortunately for Credence, Graves isn’t there all the time, until he is. A few days later, the cowed nurse not so cowed anymore, returns to give Credence his ice bath, another younger nurse in tow. Credence doesn’t know how Graves does it, almost doesn’t want to know, but once Credence starts to weep a little and try his best to lift himself out of the freezing cold water, Graves appears, very much by magic, and starts to shout a lot, phrases like ‘vindictive little shit,’ ‘fucking ridiculous,’ ‘rampant fucking unprofessionalism,’ ‘ugly fucking shoes,’ ‘freezing fucking cold’ and ‘fuck’ are thrown around a lot. Graves stomps towards Credence cowering in the bath, almost forgetting the boy was submerged still, and goes to pick him up, freezing cold water, completely naked Credence and all. Credence squeaks and tries his best to think of himself as somewhere completely different, sure this can’t really be happening, he eyes the minute details of Graves’ scarf and swallows, because it most certainly _is_ real.

Credence slowly dries and warms up again within the charms and wards of his Mr. Graves, as well as his own ridiculous, scarlet, full-body blush from such embarrassment. While he does this, while his toes curl in the lovely warmth and then snatch back together thinking about how Graves had picked him up, naked, he listens to the argument that’s going on outside. Overhears words such as ‘legal guardian’ and ‘fucking fuckers’ and at one point _‘do you know who I fucking am?’_ Credence closes his eyes, sure his Mr. Graves will sort things out perfectly, so content and happy to be warm again, sure he won’t be subject to another horrible bath, hopes he can get Graves to stay for lunch, worries if that would mean he wouldn’t stop for dinner too, wonders if he’ll sleep without being read to by Graves. Credence slowly feels his eyes shutting, lets himself drift off peacefully in warm blankets and the thought that Mr. Graves is outside. Graves who will keep Credence safe.

 

When Credence wakes, Graves is sitting in his chair. Graves starts to talk and Credence who isn’t really up to listening, just allows his words to wash over him, until they don’t, until those words start making a lot of sense and are quite important and Credence should probably have been listening from the start.

Graves is telling him that Credence is now legally his ward, his responsibility, that Graves has used whatever terrifying power he has in MACUSA to twist certain arms and butter up certain administrators just to become his legal guardian. And that, he would, he would… he’d like Credence to move in with him. Credence is quiet for a long while.

“Credence, I know you don’t like talking very much, and I won’t ask you to again, but I need you to tell me yes or no, please,” Graves gently asks him. Or as gently as he can, when his heart is about to beat straight out of his chest, looking at his sweet angel with dimples and fluffy hair from drying oddly and wrapped so tightly because those bastards had gone against Graves to toy with hi-

“Yes,” Credence says, small and quiet as always, but he says it. Graves nods his head, realises he’s been nodding too long and hasn’t taken a breath either, does that, stops nodding.

“Tomorrow morning, Credence. Tomorrow morning and you’ll never have to come here again, okay?” Graves swears to both Credence and himself, could never take him back here now, couldn’t consciously come again to the place of Credence’s distress, the sight of him crying, even if it might haunt him for a while, his waking and sleeping moments. _What matters is that Credence said yes._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello <3 
> 
> As you can see, I've added another chapter! I'm writing it at the moment and I'm afraid it's sappy. I hope you enjoy this, I'm a little worried it's a snoozefest but let me know ~
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ weepingstar xox

 

Graves had a small and cluttered apartment across the way from MACUSA, not the kind of cosy clutter you might expect, but entirely filled to the brim with old memos and case files. Graves liked the close proximity of the place because it meant he could get into work as early as he might want with minimal fuss - conveniently forgetting he could quite easily apparate, and that his brownstone was still in central New York. Although there are few people in the world who truly know Percival Graves, we might theorise the real reason for his aversion to living there. The brownstone had been in his family for some time, somewhere he and his mother had found much happiness, for a short time at least.

Then, he was just a young boy without any parents, left with a large, lonely house bereft of any other occupants, a foreboding family name and a extensive fortune. Sent off to a preparatory boarding school by the state, shipped to and fro when he had gotten into fights, not settled, until Ilvermorny and then his inevitable career as an Auror. Even though it had been some time since his youth, Graves had realised that staying in the house for too long, letting his guard down and perhaps indulging in a little too much firewhiskey, would risk him hearing his mother rummaging for a book in the study, humming in the garden, calling the elf to help her in the kitchen.

Despite all this, Percival Graves diligently packs up any clothing he has left scattered about his small apartment, any important files, his contraband No-Maj scotch, and makes his way to the Upper East Side. He tells himself of course he can’t have Credence stay in his tiny apartment, that would be ridiculous, thinks he won’t be by himself now, anyway. 

The large house is kept very clean and presentable by the diligent Effie, his house elf, forever wishing her Master might return, and return he does. In the late evening Effie is startled into dropping the silverware she’d been polishing when Graves appears in the kitchen with no notice given at all, the crack of apparition like a whip. Graves immediately begins giving orders to prepare for a guest- _no_ , a new resident - after a few hours of these preparations, Graves had left for bed meaning to finish a few things in the morning. 

He hadn’t slept, had just tossed and turned until around four in the morning when he’d given in, got up and called for Effie. Had her make more arrangements for Credence’s room on the fourth floor - the one above his - went to dig out old clothes of his, more bed linens in case the boy would be cold, opened up all the windows to let in the fresh, biting breeze. He thought Credence would appreciate his new room, spacious and simple, with large windows overlooking a pretty section of New York, pigeons often huddled in the window alcove and the little balcony there for shelter cooed at one another. The days were getting shorter and darker, cold snapped at your heels wherever you went and Graves had the terrible, gripping, _jealous_ thought that this might be the first Winter that Credence would enjoy, where he wouldn’t be forced to hand out fliers and stay out in the cold. Graves is both dismayed by that and revelling too much in being the one who could provide the boy with such things. He surveys the fourth floor bedroom one last time before moving himself down to the kitchen and fixing himself up with a coffee, keeping a diligent watch on the time until it’s appropriate to pick Credence up.

Even after making a coffee and forcing himself to sit for a moment, Percival Graves had never in all his years been such a flurry of activity, he makes an order for more food than his pantry is likely to hold, calls the Twilfitt and Tattings' to have some clothes fitted in what he guesses must be Credence’s size, finds several jumpers for the boy, and even assists a flustered Effie in making sure there aren’t any Boggarts in the house as an extra precaution. All this before ten o’clock in the morning. He hopes that even though Credence will have a lot of space to himself now, his wonderful new habit of clinging to Graves won’t go away. Graves won’t allow himself to think of just how much he enjoys the boy’s sweet attachment to him. 

 

Graves had warned Effie the previous night that their new resident was very much unused to magic and that she was to be kind to him and careful to not frighten the boy. Effie had seemed strangely enthusiastic that Master Graves was to have a companion, started scrubbing the bath tub extra hard, went about making cordial and cauldron cakes because she understood the boy was a fan of sweets, even found some dusty books belonging to a younger Graves and arranged them beside his bed.

Effie had observed when the boy had arrived in his new home, bundled in an oversized jumper that had belonged to Graves some time ago, as well as a thick woollen blanket Graves had taken to keep him warm in. She had seen just how Master Graves had carefully told Credence that this was his home now, had happily held the boy’s hand as he'd stood still, shoulders hunched and wide eyes, looking around the proud home (Effie hoped he was admiring her wonderful dusting work). Mr. Graves had taken the boy through the first floor where the entrance was, down to the kitchen and private smaller dining room, and then quickly all the way up to Graves’ floor and then Credence’s own. Effie didn’t intrude on their intimate little house tour but she thought she could hear the Master comforting the boy who had become overwhelmed. Master Graves could be sweet if he wanted to be, she’d been employed by his family ever since she was _employable_. Had once helped him wash and bandage an injured cat he’d found on his way home, knew he frequently and generously donated to several organisations and she also recalled him calling his acquaintance with some colleagues _‘charity'_. He was immensely kind. 

The week following was an exciting one for her, never used to much company or extra work, mostly just maintaining the great Graves townhouse while her Master was at work. But now she was called upon at all times of the day. In the morning Master Graves would take his breakfast in his sitting room with Credence, whereas previously, he hadn’t had breakfast at home at all, just his stuffy apartment which Effie disliked. Graves would stalk off to MACUSA at the crack of dawn and returned after visiting Credence to eat and fitfully sleep. Now Effie would hear the sweet tinkling of a bell and pop to its origin, be asked for some odd thing, like jelly, or a hot water bottle, or an extra blanket or a certain book or special stuffed tomatoes from the Italian deli. Effie spoke to the other wizarding household elves and said just how happy she was to be of so much use recently, hoped the wonderful, sweet, kind Credence would stay because her Master seemed terribly enamoured. Realising what she had just said, she reminded herself to stub her toe on the way home in punishment for exposing Master Graves’ _feelings._  

 

One thing that Effie isn’t entirely happy with is that Credence often wants to help. And now, most of us know never to suggest a house elf needs help. Credence, however, does not know these things.

Graves has to apparate home swiftly when his wards in the kitchen start jangling, the scene that greets Graves is an odd one, there’s a tearful Credence prying a saucepan away from Effie’s hands as she apologises for being incompetent. Effie stops at her Master’s command, and a shaky Credence is soon wrapped up in the arms of a concerned Graves. Graves carefully explains the nature of house elves, that it wasn’t Credence’s fault, it was his own for not explaining, tells Credence that if he told Effie that he _wanted_ to help, instead of that he _should_ , then she was sure to let him. 

Although now Graves frowns, says he disapproves of Credence thinking he has to do any housework while Graves is away at work. Credence quietly mumbles how he wanted to help bake something, that he _liked_ to do that, Mr. Graves, please? Graves finds that he has a terrible weakness for a quiet, sweetly enquiring Credence. So Graves has to tell Effie that Credence will be cooking a little bit with her, phrases it so that the house elf is helping the boy, helping him get better, a light stress relief. 

What will frequently happen now is, a nervous Credence on coltish legs will pad down to the kitchen and stick his head around the door to see if Effie is there making something, will slowly walk towards her to join in - often wearing a jumper of Graves’ which almost reaches his knees, sleeves rucked up to the elbows instead of covering his hands, and wide neck slouching off his right shoulder. Effie and Credence spend many days like this, and when the tinkling of a bell sounds which indicates Graves has returned. Credence’s face will take on a shy but fond expression, his fingers will link together and start to fidget, and he’ll quickly make his way to greet his guardian, head bowed a little and blushing, quietly asking Graves how his day was. Graves won’t resist to reach out his hand and brush Credence’s hair from his eyes, say he wants a proper look at the boy, ask Credence if he doesn’t want fitting jumpers, no? Credence will always smile and shake his head, saying but I like _your_ jumpers, Mr. Graves.

 

As Autumn comes to a close and Winter progresses, Credence improves in leaps and bounds. Still, there are times when he opens his mouth and dark smoky tendrils try to sew it shut, Mary Lou whispering on his shoulder that children should be seen and not heard, what a useless boy he was. Then Mr. Graves’ broad hand will brush away Mary Lou and unpick the tendrils around his mouth, coaxing Credence slowly and reassuring him, nothing to worry about, take your time, _I’m here._

For Graves, each of Credence’s smiles is life altering, another way in which he would now see the world differently. Listen to Credence laugh and smile and say, no, drizzle wasn’t a pain, it just meant you could stay inside and enjoy being warm. No, birthdays aren’t annoying, oh Mr. Graves, when’s yours? Your birthday is an excuse for us to celebrate _together._ No, early mornings aren’t too bad, because it means we can spend even more time together, don’t you think? Graves quickly found himself completely too optimistic, seeing everything through Credence’s kind eyes. 

Another development also takes place, one that Graves finds hard to describe, one he certainly wouldn’t want to describe to anyone, actually. 

 

It all began because Credence hadn’t been sleeping, now he had finally broken free from the exile his own mind had trapped him within he was free to speak (when he felt like it, that is) and his mind wandered. At all times of day, and then all times at night, it was these nightly contemplations that brought poor Credence to his knees.

He tries to stay quiet, tries, tries, tries so hard to not make a sound, bites his lip and digs his fingers into his palm, don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise, don’t cry, _don’t cry_. The nightmares had started very abruptly, like a terrible and unwanted old friend shouting _surprise!_ He could remember now, what it had been like to have that creature inside him, to be completely at the mercy of something else who wanted to engulf and destroy you. For the first few nights after it happened, Credence would curl up and try his best to cry quietly, try to make sure he didn’t have hiccups, make sure the little pained whimpers he let out wouldn’t travel past his door and down to Graves’ room. Knew that if he was going to be victim to these night terrors for much longer then he was in real trouble. He’d enlisted the help of Effie (now his dear friend) to help change his sheets in the morning so they weren’t crumpled - she was a steadfast confidant and wouldn’t say a word. 

However, something had to give, and on a terribly windy and thunderous night, it did. The entire amalgamation of his terrifying dreams and the lashings of rain on his windows, the howling wind outside, had resulted in the most intense nightmare he’d experienced yet, and upon awakening he’d let out a terrible, feeble cry. Gasping for breath now he was away from the creature, he frantically looked around to assure himself he was safe, bedside table, lamp, rug, drawers, bed spread all accounted for, began to wiggle his toes and move upwards to show himself that he hadn’t been destroyed, he hadn’t been engulfed, still here. He gets to his ankles and then bursts into floods of tears, feeling so terribly alone and scared and frightened it won’t ever go away and _what if-_

“Credence?” 

Credence whips his head up to come face to face with a frowning Mr. Graves, stammers and splutters an apology, that he hadn’t meant to be so loud, that he hadn’t meant to wake up he swears, oh dear, oh I’m _sorry_ Mr. Graves! Graves stops the boy’s hysterics by cradling Credence suddenly, wrapping his arms around the entirety of Credence and just holding him.

“You had a nightmare?” 

Credence, now shuddering and hiccuping softly, nods into the crook of Graves’ neck, far too comfortable to admit, clinging to Graves and hoping he won't remember any of this in the morning

“It was the obscurus, it wants to take me back again, I-I can’t, I don’t want to. Mr. Graves..?”

Graves shushes Credence, tells the boy the obscurus is gone, had ripped itself from him and couldn’t survive without him, it had dissipated in a strange sticky black smoke. Graves promises he’ll never have to worry about it again, promises Credence he’s safe, promises that Graves will look after him. Slowly he moves Credence to his side against his chest, taking out his wand, he performs a particular set of spells which stir Graves’ memories, pulling at his heart a little and soothing Graves’ frayed nerves with familiarity. Little wisps of light come from the tip of his wand, dancing together until they form a figure he remembers well from nights such as this out of his own childhood. She'd come to comfort him over a nightmare, his mother, she'd cast the spell for dancing dragons and promised him that she would always be there to look after him. She hadn’t been able to keep such a promise, but that wasn’t her fault, it was just how it was.

Credence’s breathing evens out eventually, the contractions in his chest from the hysteria settle and he watches as the dragon made of light and smoke fades out. Graves ignites another with his wand, making himself fit more snugly against Credence.

“How often have you been having nightmares?” Graves asks him, eyes on the top of Credence’s head, concerned that the boy had so clearly been trying to calm himself down before involuntarily crying out.

“Not long... I thought I could handle them,” Credence says, closer to calm again now, his eyes half keeping up with the dragon, half drooping as he falls back into a finally peaceful sleep with Graves there, a comforting presence against his back. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Graves asks, can’t help himself, had noticed the purple indents below Credence’s eyes over the last week or so but never let himself intrude, thought the boy deserved some secrets. Graves realises it’s not so much that Credence deserves his own secrets, but that he can’t be trusted to let Graves know about the important ones.

Without an answer, Credence had drifted off again. A dancing dragon makes its way over to Graves, dipping close enough to him to graze his nose with cold wisps of light and smoke. Graves is sent back to his childhood, his mother who smelt of her gardens and her herbs, wouldn’t budge for anyone if he needed her, when he was little and scared to be alone. She would kiss his brow and say that Mama needed her Percy, he would wake up still surrounded in her arms, nightmares and bad thoughts swept away by her delicate fingers. He did the same to Credence, made himself comfortable, conjured another blanket to lay underneath, and crowded against the boy at his side. His Mother’s soothing voice, her magic and her soft embrace had brought much comfort to him when he was young, and nothing had even compared - until he felt the presence of Credence’s hand laying on his arm in sleep.

 

The two of them had fallen into an unspoken and slightly forbidden routine. After several more nights with a gasping Credence slowly being soothed to sleep by the dancing dragons, slowly drifting off again in Graves’ arms, Graves had decided that instead of appearing in Credence’s room shortly after a nightmare, he would be there already. That is to say, the two of them had begun to share a bed. 

Graves had waited until dinner to propose such a venture, Credence had blushed a deep scarlet and almost choked on his soup. Graves had said it was sure to make the boy a little shy and uncomfortable at first, however these nightmares couldn’t persist, not on Graves’ watch. Graves did however, forget to mention a particularly well known and well used potion in wizarding society - Dreamless Sleep, but we won’t mention that, because it isn’t part of the story. 

Graves had told Credence to go up and make his own nightly preparations. Had told Credence that they’d be sharing Graves’ much larger bed - hadn’t at the time recalled the simple transfiguration charm to enlarge furniture, but, again that isn’t part of the story. Had said to Credence he would knock on the door in twenty minutes, to see if he was ready, and then go about his own nightly ablutions and they would sleep together, or next to one another, we should say. 

Credence had made his way upstairs on nervous legs, washed and dressed and situated himself in what he knew to be Graves’ least preferred side of the bed (and oh, Credence didn’t want to admit to _that_ particular knowledge). He had squeezed his eyes shut as Graves knocked on the door, had shakily answered, and hidden under the covers as Graves had entered. He had poked his head out of the duvet once the older man went into the bathroom, heard the splashing of the tap and even imagined Mr. Graves slowly and carefully washing his face and neck, removing the grime of the day, moving down to his chest and then stopped himself short of imagining Graves washing anything else.

Graves came back into the bedroom (Credence swears he didn’t mean to look) he lays his cufflinks on the dresser, his braces and tie, unbuttons his fine woollen trousers and then Credence can’t look anymore - even though he didn’t in the first place, honest - because Graves is about to be naked, or at least close to it. Credence accidentally imagines Graves getting into his night things, soft pants which snugly hugged his hips - not that he’d observed that - and his robe, for Credence hadn’t seen him out of it before. Wondered if he slept bare chested, or with a soft shirt or vest, again, had to stop himself, because he really, _truly_ , wasn’t interested.

Credence feels a dip in the bed where his back is facing, hears a weary sigh and then observes the light being extinguished. He lies still for a few minutes, breathing shallowly, listening to Graves’ even breathing, wondering if he’s doing the same. Trying his best to fall asleep and to close his eyes and not be so hyper aware of Graves so very close to him. 

Just as he’s about to relax and begin dozing, there’s a movement on Graves’ side of the bed, and a sudden warmth pressed up against the length of Credence’s back. Credence just about stops himself from squeaking, but it’s a close thing. 

“You usually sleep better when I’m like this, don’t you?” Graves asks, voice gravelly but completely calm.

Credence can’t even gather the words he needs up off the floor where his brain has just flopped. Just makes a vague assenting noise which Graves must think is enough, because he then slings an arm across Credence’s stomach and within minutes begins to snore just above Credence’s head. 

Credence knows he can’t sleep peacefully now, can’t sleep because he’s painfully aware that Graves does _not_ wear a shirt to bed, can feel the furnace-like heat emanating from him, his arm like a heavy band of hot iron across his stomach, constricting but making Credence feel _oh so safe_. Although he thought he would never be able to sleep like this, he already finds himself slowly melting into Graves’ embrace, resting an arm just on top of Graves’ and he sleeps, he does. Even finding comfort in weaving his slim fingers with the calloused ones belonging to Graves, a small, traitorous voice in the back of Credence’s mind, hiding in one of the dark, secret corners, says that they fit together perfectly, look at that. It’s the best sleep Credence thinks he doesn’t deserve. He wakes up feeling like he’s been gone for years, could have started a new life in his pleasant dreams in the time he spent there. 

He wakes up pressed against Graves who had become even grabbier in the night, now with his legs entwined with Credence’s, making it entirely impossible to move without waking Graves. Credence goes back to sleep, thinks he’ll let Graves handle it. The obscurus didn’t come for him that night, and Credence knew it wouldn’t again while Graves was there. 

 

The shift in their relationship doesn’t become apparent at first. Graves is just being _kind_ and helping Credence get over his nightmares, just holding him close and making him feel safe. They carry on this way for quite some time, until Credence comes to MACUSA.

Graves had been talking about this case for weeks, how he’d nailed the suspects and had a solid, fucking idiot-proof case, it couldn’t fail, couldn’t possibly. And Credence was sure it wouldn’t, however, in his rush to leave the house on time (comfortable sleeping made for delightful _not-cuddling, late-making, just-laying-next-to-one-another-that’s-all_ mornings) Graves had somehow forgotten the case files at home. Credence was sure that Graves was completely right and a brilliant ex-auror and Director but not without the _evidence._

Credence made a very brave decision and left the house, something he hadn’t done without the presence of his Mr. Graves ever since he’d been accepted into the household. He knew where MACUSA was, knew to just ask for Graves and press the special button in the terrifying elevator and everything would be fine. And funnily enough, it was, his walk was peaceful mostly, his pace was quick and Credence knew he would comfortably be there in time before the case hearing at eleven, and he was. The trouble however, came directly after Graves got back from the hearing. He’d thanked Credence profusely and said just how pleased he was with his boy, how Credence was just a _wonder._ Graves had strode off to argue his case and left Credence in his office, promising he would treat him to lunch afterwards, a sweet treat too.

 

The trouble came when one of Graves’ junior aurors came storming into his office, demanding to know just why he’d failed on his defensive duelling when he’d knocked the fucker out (Graves had made minimal notes, mainly that defensive duelling was all about _not_ knocking the fucker out). Unfortunately then he'd seen Credence, a little shy and scared and reading a book in the corner of Director Graves’ office. Had sidled up to him, asking what such a pretty thing like himself was doing here, why would he be concerning himself with such a grumpy old man. Credence had stuttered that Mr. Graves wasn’t old and he certainly wasn’t grumpy! That he was Mr. Graves’ ward, and Graves was due to be back very soon, so it would best for him to stay outside _thank you very much._

The young junior auror had smirked and crowded Credence against a bookshelf, he’d cupped Credence’s jaw, made an _‘ahhh’_ sound and tilted his head.

“So you’re Director Graves’ pet? I’ve heard about you, holed up in that bastard’s massive house, bet he spoils you rotten, hm? Well, why don’t we have a little fun while your old man is gone?” 

As soon as the junior auror had said the words, his face took on a deathly pale shade, his eyes had fixed on a point just to the left of Credence, who was still cornered and frightened against the bookshelf. Only then had Credence realised an imposing, dark figure standing just next to him, casual as you like, almost as if he’d been standing there the entire time.

“What was that, Shapelton?” Graves asks, voice so eerily calm it made Credence’s toes curl in absolute terror. 

Credence had rushed away from the horrible man’s arms, to huddle next to Graves who had extended a hand and beckoned Credence to him, slotting together their fingers if just for a moment as Shapelton fumbled. 

“Credence, please go and sit outside for a few minutes, I just have something to take care of. Don’t worry, go, go,” Graves turned to face Credence and smile kindly at him, soothing Credence’s worries at having angered Graves. Credence trotted off quickly to sit anxiously just outside the large imposing doors of Graves’ office, trying to strain his ears to hear inside, but no noise escapes the thick door and wards. 

 

If we were privy to what happened inside Graves’ office, we might have heard the man state that Credence was _his_ and that any further advances, even if Shapelton had laid just _one_ finger on Credence, Merlin help him, he would be walking out of here in a much worse state than this. Graves might have been seen talking to a man obviously in extreme pain, crouching next to him on the floor and whispering that arrogant and aspiring men like himself shouldn’t covet and touch things that _don’t belong to them_ , things they can’t afford, things that they can’t look after, and once again, things that aren’t _theirs._

While Credence wasn’t aware of exactly what it was that had changed between the two of them after that day, he certainly felt the seismic shift between them, they were two forces now moving towards one another, crashing and destroying whatever lay in the way until they met. 

Graves, however, was very well aware, looking at the crumpled man on the floor he knew that he would likely do anything for Credence, and he would likely do anything to appease himself when someone tried to take his boy away from him. Graves knew that he had never been terribly bothered by anything or anyone for many years, perhaps ever, but now he had Credence, he made up the whole world. 

Surely this was love, that terrible and ugly emotion. Clawing at Graves’ insides, trying to set itself free through his mouth in adoring soliloquy, through his finger tips in forming the world around Credence to suit him perfectly. He was terrible for Credence and he knew that, dangerous and wrong and Graves was scared. Scared of what he might do to the sweet, delicate boy he resided with. Damned himself for bringing him home out of the selfishness of his own wants instead of letting him get away.

Graves had walked casually out of his office, had acted like nothing had transpired at all, and had taken Credence to lunch. Credence noted a predatory look in his eye, a proprietary hand on the small of his back, guiding him, and he didn’t say anything, he hung his head to cover his blush and he allowed it. Perhaps Credence realised that it was inevitable for the two of them to collide eventually.  

 

Graves had been especially cautious when leaving Credence alone, had known he could of course trust the boy but still was wary enough to triple lock the doors and check his own wards an additional five times before reluctantly leaving. One day, when he’d returned home to Credence reading by the fire, he’d shared with Credence what was on his mind, how he worried he was secluding the boy and that Credence was terribly bored because of him. Credence had gently shook his head, avoiding Graves’ eyes, told him that he very much liked being kept at home, wasn’t bored in the slightest, whispered that is made him feel safe when he'd hear Graves’ routine locking of the doors in the morning and then again on his return. Graves had nodded and not mentioned it again, the warm feeling in his chest blooming and unfurling grasping curls of warmth that wrapped further around his body. His fingers glowed with it when he turned the key in the door come morning, his feet when he made his way to check on Credence in the library, the palm of his hand when cupped the boy's cheek in greeting. 

Credence had taken up the hobby of counting through the day. Didn’t know what on Earth he was doing, wished he could stop, because it seemed to make the slower parts of the day even slower. 

He knew that it took twenty-four steps for Graves to travel from the front door to Credence in the private upstairs study. Knew Graves liked to knock thrice on his door in the evening before entering. Knew Graves had two distinct wrinkles at the corner of his eyes when he smiled at Credence. Knew Graves would be at work for eight hours at least, knew he had to account for travel time and that he might be caught up, giving another fifteen minutes either side, waited the agonising extra until he heard the pop of apparition. Knew it had been three and a half months, a week and four days into his infatuation with Graves and he suspected it was a little _more_ than a mere infatuation now. Watched Graves fasten his tie in the morning - three twists around before looping down, thought to himself that he would quite like to be the one doing it. Examines carefully the gradually increasing step count that Graves now takes to go to work in the mornings - starting with twenty-eight, growing to thirty-four, and then forty-two. Knew that the reason for this increased dawdling was to say goodbye to Credence, check he’d finished his breakfast, ask of his plans for the day. Credence was terribly happy to observe it, had monitored his heart beats per minute with and without Graves in the room and thought his doctor might believe Graves to be too much excitement for him to bear. 

When Graves opens the door to the study in the afternoons, Credence tries to count the happiness it brings him, but much like rain it spit spots until he’s completely soaked in it, unable to count. He became very taken with Graves’ eyes, saw how they assessed Credence when he got home, wondered to himself what they might look like if he had fallen in love. 

 

One day, Credence decides to cut his suspense a little, decides to be brave and wait for Graves by the stairs, surprise him there instead of waiting in the study. Unfortunately this is where the small misfortunes of Credence and Graves begin. 

On the ground floor there was a long window by the staircase leading to the upper floors, the staircase had a good view of the large doors that Graves would enter and exit the house through. Credence planned to situate himself on the third step up, just high enough to spy Graves through the slats and low enough that Graves wouldn’t see him if he wasn’t looking very hard. It was raining terribly, and gazing out of the window was especially glum at the time because all Credence could see was excessive precipitation and the sodden garden of their neighbour.

 

Graves hadn’t planned for this, but how does one plan for a young woman, not looking where she was going at all, colliding directly into you and your expensively tailored suit, full vase of flowers still in hand. Graves had calmed himself while helping the woman up from the floor, who was apologising still, Graves had tried dredging his chivalry up from wherever he’d put it last time. With gritted teeth, telling the woman it was no trouble, yes I’m sure it was an accident, no I don’t want you to pay for dry cleaning, yes I insist you let me look at your ankle if you think you’ve twisted it. Graves escorts the very apologetic woman to the door of his home, twists the knob to the ‘No-Maj friendly’ setting, alerting the house elves of the situation. Graves sighs and hopes Credence is upstairs and oblivious to it all. Unfortunately, as we all know, he is not.

Credence jumps up when Graves enters the house, shrinks back down again when he sees he’s brought a young woman with him. Graves doesn’t seem to spot him as he quickly shows the woman to the sitting room just off the entryway. He hears Graves asking the woman to sit down, ask if she would she like a drink. Credence, with no real context of the situation, feels the entire world crashing down around his ears, and the intense jealousy that it inspires in him makes his mouth clamp shut at the thought of ever talking to Graves ever again.

Unfortunately, Credence isn’t the type to intrude on other's business, even though it would likely be much less complicated. If he had stayed at the edge of the staircase for longer, then he would have likely heard Graves asking to see the woman’s ankle, heard the young woman apologise again for not looking where she was going. But Credence doesn’t, he pads quickly to his room in the attic, not even to his usual place in the study, he goes to his little balcony with the cooing pigeons, the small alcove keeping him from the rain that's just begun falling. He hears the woman leave not long after, tells himself off sternly for placing such expectations on Mr. Graves, of how selfish he’d been, hoping Graves would just need _him._ Sees the pretty lady lightly skip down the sodden street with _flowers_ and thinks Graves must be similarly happy with his secret tête-à-tête.

 

Graves tries not to disturb Credence in his room at this time of day, doesn’t know if Credence might want some alone time or a nap, hadn’t found him in the study so he tries to give him a little space. In stead, he skulks around downstairs, taking off his sodden shirt to give to the elves to fix. Wanting to hear about Credence's day, wants to hear what he’s been reading, would love to ask if he’s been missed, tell Credence of the silly event that just happened. Eventually, when it comes to dinner time, Credence doesn’t come down, Graves frowns and ventures up to Credence’s rooms. Knocks thrice, with no answer he cautiously steps inside to check Credence is there only to see a small messy puff of hair above the covers.

“Not feeling hungry, my boy?” Graves tries to make sure his voice doesn’t betray his concern, doesn’t show just how desperate he is for the boy’s company. Credence shakes his head. 

“I’ll leave you some food on the counter, it’ll still be warm. I’ll be in the study if you need me, alright?” Credence nods a little, face still hidden in the covers. 

Graves doesn’t want to ask if Credence will be coming to share his bed tonight, doesn’t want to ask if Credence is unhappy, if he’s finally had enough of Graves’ home and of Graves himself, because he’s very scared of what the answer may be. 

Credence rubs at his eyes and scolds himself for being so silly, for being such a coward, so much so he was too scared to even face Mr. Graves. Credence tip toes down to the kitchen later on and eats up the still warm macaroni, he falters on Graves’ floor, listens in near his bedroom, and then rushes upstairs back to his. Knows very well he won’t sleep a wink without his Graves keeping him warm and safe, and knows he can’t even attempt sleep just in case he has nightmares which will wake Graves. The lady friend of Mr. Graves’ had very much made obvious to Credence that his little crush was much more than that, and that out of his respect for Graves, he should step back a little, for his own _heart_ , he should withdraw. 

 

Many problems in life seem to be from silly miscommunications, or from shyness like the kind Credence suffers from.

Credence wonders if he and Mr. Graves will ever be able to continue their dinners, their small conversations, wishes that Mr. Graves might just come and snatch him out of bed and tell him what a silly thing he’d done. But Graves doesn’t come that night, or the next, their breakfast conversations are stilted, and their dinners are rarely ever shared. The two of them develop twin purple patches under their eyes, similarly pining for the other both asleep and awake. They both steal baleful glances at the other over meals, and wonder what on Earth could have gone wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think xox


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've carried this around with me for a little while now, I hope you enjoy it <3 Please tell me what you think ~
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ weepingstar xox

 

aurora: (n.) dawn

  

It had rained for weeks it felt like, weather reporters in the _Evening Broomstick_ had claimed it was the wettest November on record, Graves told Credence they said that every year.

A week earlier and Credence would have giggled, which was his want whenever Graves said anything vaguely humorous, gazing, entirely enraptured up at Graves, blushing prettily as Graves might reach to push a lock of hair behind his ear, or claim there was jam staining the side of his mouth so he could rub at it with his thumb. However, since the misunderstanding neither of them had been able to raise much of a smile, either from heartache or exhaustion. A particular English literature teacher might have called it pathetic fallacy that it had rained everyday since, but Graves at this point had no interest in English teachers or literary terms.

Graves would find himself gazing out at the grey drizzle, wondering where their own light had gone. It would often lead to him mulling over his life up until Credence, a new melancholy hobby of his.

Remembering that he had never loved well, had never loved easily. When Grave was nine he’d broken his favourite toy because he hadn’t wanted to share, then couldn’t put it back together. He had kept it on his window ledge as a reminder to himself that his love was violent and possessive and destructive. He couldn’t help but think of Credence similarly broken, the boy in pieces on his windowsill. Graves thought that he loved Credence so much he’d forgotten his own nature, forgotten anything else but him. One thing in particular that drives Graves to distraction is the absolutely nonsensical nature of love, there’s no reason to it, it’s not a fact, not something he can easily express in a report or a short memo, it’s slippery and always changing. When he looks over at Credence who seems to share his sudden misery, his love changes like a murmuration of birds, expanding and moving in opposite directions until it feels like he can’t hold it all inside himself anymore.

Graves starts doing something he always despised in others, he starts mulling over his heartbreak, reads novels about it, listens to records which exclusively talk of love and heartbreak and the sheer _pain_  of it all. He doesn’t know why he does it, doesn’t know why _they_  do it, he doesn’t know why they romanticise or glorify it, for him heartbreak seemed to be a death he was forced to keep on living.

Graves thinks back to before his mother had died, he’d wanted to be a herbologist just like her, to work in the gardens and to grow and nurture the plants. When she had died in his youth, he had turned instead to destruction, a career as an auror like his forefathers. Graves usually found that hoping for the best would end in disappointment, so he prepared for the worst, prepared for Credence to up and leave him one day not very far from now.

Credence was similarly morose, the world far too quiet and far too cold and far too cruel without Graves nearby. He thinks he will still love Graves if he finds himself further and further away from him, won’t ever let go of his first and only real love, he’ll still love him if he never sees him again, he’ll still love him if he sees him every other Tuesday, still love him if he gets to spend every dizzying moment he has left with him. Credence had come down from his journeys at the ceiling, losing himself in his own mind, however the urge hadn’t gone away, and through the terrible days where he felt so cold and alone, he was very tempted to let himself go again.

Graves scowls out of the window, winces at the clatter of his spoon against the table, sips his bitter coffee. Credence picks at his jumper - not one of Graves’, not now - and doesn’t touch his breakfast.

 

Graves had always seen himself as a selfish man, a workaholic with no family connection and no wish for them, and throughout the short and blissful period that Graves had shared in his joy with Credence, he believed himself proven right in his suspicions. He had cosseted the boy in the house jealously, kept him from leaving with sweet words and treats. Graves certainly didn’t want just family from Credence, he wanted absolutely everything. Family was a small detail in the realm of possibilities that Graves wanted to engulf the boy with. In the dead of night when they’d shared a bed, when Credence had whispered shakily about his nightmares, about how the obscurus was itching to consume him entirely, about dreaming of being washed out into the sea to drown, Graves had told him he was safe here, safe with him. What he hadn’t said was that there was a truly terrifying monster lying next to him instead, one who wanted to eat up every part of Credence, keep him all to himself with such a violence that it scared Graves.

Graves realised just what a terrible trap he’d lain for Credence, set up with pillows and blankets so the boy would fall safely, but still snag his leg on his love’s spiky tendrils and never be able to move again, comfortable but captured. He’d fostered such a dependence in Credence and he’d done it knowingly.

The brief outings they’d had, when Credence would cling to Graves and keep quiet were entirely too encouraged by him, he would whisper to Credence, _oh darling boy, I won’t make you come out again, it’s much nicer at home isn’t it?_ Told Credence under the cover of darkness as they’d lain in bed that Mary Lou had never deserved him, never had and never will. He’d tried to prise all those ties from him, pick the hooks of her influence out to replace them with his own, save Credence’s heart wholly for himself.

Graves wasn’t just enchanted by Credence’s beauty, not that he could deny he was aware of it, all too keenly. But what Graves became interested in was Credence’s goodness, his kind heart and his tender soul, came to realise that beauty was the least of his problems, because Credence was perfect. It was only when Graves began to feel real, physical pain upon leaving Credence in the mornings that he realised, that this must be love. Graves had known from then that it was hopeless, it wasn’t just that he wanted to have everything Credence could give, but that he wanted to _deserve_  Credence. Graves couldn’t imagine what terrible material his soul was made of, couldn’t possibly imagine the frightful thing twining itself with the purity that was Credence, it wouldn’t be fair, it wouldn’t be right.

These are the thoughts that swirl around in Graves’ head constantly, he flicks through them with his morning coffee, on his lunch break he’ll pay some of them close attention and in the moments that Credence looks saddest he flays himself with the sharpest of them.

 

In the time since their unfortunate misunderstanding, Credence was very much a distant song to Graves, never sure exactly where he was and hard to catch, not something you could plan on hearing but could only hope you might. Graves thought he heard it sometimes when he arrived home, from a distant part of the house, a tinkling of bells which followed Credence like a fairy parade.

In Graves’ gloomy ventures into literature outside of his usual field, Graves had found out several odd facts. One of these is that the ancient Egyptians had fifty different words for sand, and Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. Graves had noted down in his journal, that he couldn’t think of many words for love, but all that came to mind was the way Credence used to move closer to him in sleep, and that there were no words for that at all.

 

Graves puts aside whatever he’s reading, his collection of fiction rapidly increasing in the past few weeks, presses his finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes to will away the ache there. He had thought that above all, he was a rational man. He knew that everyone’s heart must beat the same, perhaps some faster or slower than others, maybe even some were erratic, but they all had the same purpose. However, no matter how many times he would tell himself this, he still found himself questioning it as soon as he saw Credence, thinking that the only thing his heart could be beating for was Credence, ensuring he could see him if just for a moment, and then wait until with baited breath until he could look again. He felt sure his heart wasn’t content pumping blood around his body as it should, but was trying to beat all the way out of his chest and join Credence.

Graves can’t help but think things over, again and again in his mind, what went wrong, what did he do, _why_. He can think of millions of things, millions of mistakes and missteps. Something that sticks out in his mind, not a mistake or a misstep or even, really, something that _he_  did…

Credence had, after a particularly bad nights sleep, given in a little and tried to seek out comfort in Graves. In his fitful dreams he was sailing away now, the sea rougher, the waves pulling Credence down further, the current strong. He wanted to ask Graves, however mad it was, if he could save him.

“Did you ever sail when you were younger?” Credence blurts out, voice cracking, fingers trembling a little.

Graves twitches his nose and scratches at his stubble, “Yes, a little. Why?” He wants to ask ten questions at once, now Credence is engaging, speaking to him again, that is all he comes up with.

“Nothing, it’s just- it’s just…” Credence trails off, looks into his tea, thinks of the shingle shore in his dream, the faint memory he has of pale cliffs and a pale blue sea. “Is there a beach… nearby, with pebbles and a stone arch and cliffs and-“ Credence finds the lump in his throat has gotten too big to speak through now. He can’t look Graves in the eye, far too embarrassed with his very specific line of questioning.

“Durdle Door,” Graves says quietly, “A ways from here, just like you described, let me find…” Graves trails off as he gets up to walk to a bookshelf, toast forgotten and coffee going cold. He comes back with a book entitled _Bleak Beaches, Curious Coves and Sombre Shores_ , taps the pad of his finger on a picture which matches the fuzzy image in Credence’s dreams, “Here?”

Credence is silent for a long moment, nods, “Yes,” a few seconds later, “Thank you.” Credence doesn’t know what significance it has to him, can barely remember his real family, before Mary Lou, and something tells him that they never took him here. But it _is_  the beach, there’s the arched cliff and the foamy sea that sways in the picture, waves parting as he presses his thumb to it. Spooked, the feeling of some kind of omen looming heavily over him, he gives the book straight back to Graves.

“Have you been?” Graves asks, of course entirely bewildered.

“No.” Credence drinks his tepid tea to stop Graves asking him any more questions. Graves shuffles off to place the book on a side table, just in case Credence needs it again, Credence eyes the action and his heart squeezes in devotion to Graves, and the fear he feels in that moment. Credence feels he’s going mad when he looks into his tea cup and the leaves swirl at the bottom, forming the cliff archway, and then swaying into an image of the rolling waves.

 

Their shared dismal pondering, their window gazing, tense breakfasting, terrible sleeping, always raining _thing_  could not continue. And like many things in life, the storm eventually breaks.

The two of them were sitting in the library, as usual, collectively reading through an entire catalogue of heartbreak, the rain outside a constant companion. Graves had been listening to French records, voices low and raspy, when Credence had asked what they were saying, Graves hadn’t met his eyes and said, “Same old, same old.”

Credence, so sick and tired of their bad fortune, their state of affairs, stretches out his bare foot and prods Graves. He curls his toes into the material of his pants and tugs, “What are they saying, won’t you tell me?” He tilts his head, sees Graves’ nostrils flare and smiles sweetly, “ _Please_ , Mr. Graves?” Graves does something some might call spectacularly stupid, others might call it a defining moment in his life, depending on which side of history you stand. Graves snatches up Credence rogue foot and pulls the boy towards him, leans down and kisses Credence on the mouth, not chastely, not _gently_ , but with all the want and the hunger and the desperation that he’d been eschewing for the many months Credence had been in his care. And Credence kisses back, oh lord he _kisses back_ , he pushes up towards Graves, he whimpers so very sweetly and clutches at his suit lapels and won’t let him go.

Very suddenly, with a physical clap of lightning from outside, the two of them separate like they themselves were shocked by the bolt. Graves, smiling and giddily happy until he sees the look of horror in Credence’s eyes. The boy convinced already he’d somehow enchanted Graves, that the obscurus was still within him and searching for a new victim, the kiss bound to infect Graves with his madness. A swelling feeling begins inside him and doesn’t seem to stop, he fears he’ll start to fit, his jaw clenches and he feels an immense pressure encompassing him.

And now, Graves had thought Credence a squib, had qualified doctors confirm the fact many times over, and somehow, someway, Credence apparates. And Graves has no idea where he is. He does the most ridiculous things like looking under the cushions, in the pantry, under his very own bed and behind the curtains. Graves realises later that these were places a little boy might hide if he was scared. Once Graves starts to act like the ex-auror he is and checks his wards, he realises Credence had cracked through them like the shocks of lightning threatening the city outside on the cold Winter’s afternoon.

Graves calls an entire crew of senior aurors to look for Credence, has them search the entire city, all his favourite places, all his least favorite places, even at the old Second Salem church. But Credence is not found. It begins to turn dark and Graves can’t erase the image of the splinching ward from his mind, Credence cut up in bits.

Graves searches his home, just once more, has a faint tremor of hope when he sees Credence’s balcony door ajar, but all there is outside are sodden pigeons. Graves does something a little pathetic, he looks for at least three and a half minutes at Credence’s pillow before giving in, a valiant effort. He buries his face in it, the smell of Credence envelops him like it used to when they still shared a bed, curling around him and soothing all his aches, igniting new ones. Graves takes several deep breaths before preparing to leave again, that is until he sees the book left on Credence’s nightstand. _Bleak Beaches, Curious Coves and Sombre Shores_ is partially hidden by Credence’s sleep shirt, carelessly thrown there in the mornings, but it is obviously frequently thumbed through. Graves lets the pages fall open by themselves and it parts on the page for Durdle Door. Before Graves can contemplate it, he apparates there, only the laser focus on his Credence guiding him, a vague idea of a shingled shore and pale cliffs in his mind.

 

It’s raining there too, of course, but amongst the pale cliffs and the pale rocks is an inky black dot, Credence sized. Almost fainting in relief at seeing the hunched figure, Graves scrambles over the rocks, pebbles skittering everywhere. Doesn’t even think to approach carefully, and once he’s close enough he dives to hold Credence to him, growls and clutches at him.

Graves’ rabid anger quickly turns to heartache as Credence whimpers a little, shivers, soaking and cold and frightened. “Why are you sitting outside in the rain?” Graves asks, sitting outside in the rain. Credence doesn’t answer, merely burrows into Graves further, the older man grips him tight and doesn’t notice the rain soaking through his clothes.

Through chattering teeth and the various hostile elements, Credence whispers “ _You came._ "

Graves nods, picks him up while whispering nonsensical comforting nonsense in his ear, and takes Credence back home.

 

Once Credence has a mug of hot cocoa, several blankets around him and a fire at his feet, Graves relaxes somewhat. He calls off his search once he’s gathered his wits about him and he makes himself a stiff drink, intent on working this all out for good, the indents of Graves’ nails in his palm start to hurt from him clenching his fists and he wants to press his nails in until he bleeds. Graves wants to beg Credence to stay, wants to bargain with him, _please darling I promise I’ll do better, please just let me kiss you one last time and I’ll never bother you again, please let me hold your hand and feel how it fits perfectly again, darling I’m sorry._

Graves doesn’t say any of that, he takes a deep breath, a deep sip of his drink, and walks over to where Credence is huddled, “Are you warm now, Credence?”

“I’m sorry,” is Credence’s only answer. Credence closes his eyes, “About before too, I shouldn’t have- I didn’t _mean_ to-“ Graves shushes Credence, silly little darling, forever blaming himself where blame isn’t needed.

“I’ve never- Credence… The only time I’ve ever felt like this before, this same sort of… _afraid_ thing, was after my Mother died, on the day before I decided to leave. Maybe it wasn’t a decision that brought me love, or happiness, but it was the right thing to do, I think. But- I’ll be truthful with you Credence, because I think some occasions call for it, this time- this time I want to stay. I want you to stay with me, this time I want to chose love, and you.”

Credence’s thoughts of bewitching Graves into a kiss accidentally, obscurus or not, his worries over Graves’ pretty lady all disappear, and all he sees is Mr. Graves who saved him, truly saved him. Saved him from the beach he’s been seeing for weeks, he could have drowned, could have died, but Graves found him. Credence sees the droplets hitting the floor even now, rolling down Graves’ sleeve and pooling on the carpet, he sees the countless books and papers stacked up that Graves bought to read him in the hospital, he sees Graves’ fingers fitting against his. Credence sees his own silly tears making dark spots on his blanket, Graves smiling at him, tutting and brushing away the wet tracks with his fingers, “I just need you to say yes or no, that’s all, and I won’t ask for anything from you ever again. Credence?”

 

Graves would like to know the exact sequence of events that led to his sudden happiness, would like to map them out like constellations, configure the shining points and how they connect to one another. The brightest star, Graves knows, is when Credence tilts his head up, gently squeezes Graves’ hand in his, and says “Yes.”


End file.
